Regretting Laughter
by pishposhandomigosh
Summary: She never knew how much harm just one little laugh could do, until that one warm Friday afternoon.


This is more of an introduction than a real chapter. The plot doesn't really pop up until next chapter, so just try to sit back and enjoy this one.

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Ever since he'd seen her laugh, he had known that he wanted her. She always sat quietly by the back of the room, staring down at her books blankly. Sometimes she would absently chip off her pale pink nail polish, no doubt the remnants of a girls' night out. The teacher would ask her questions, because he knew that she would know the answers. These rare moments when he actually was able to hear her voice were precious. He loved the way she would reply, confident that her answer was correct, yet tentative at having to assert her presence in the world. It was as if she wasn't sure if she really existed her not, and he loved her for that, too.

She left immediately after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he was yet to find out why. He assured himself that he would, because he had the resources and he wasn't shy to deplore them. He would do anything when it came to her.

He continued walking down the halls, stalking silently through the masses of people. Yes, he would do anything for her. But it wasn't simply a one-way deal. He would make sure that someday she would do anything for him, no matter what that took. He had money. He had time. And he had the patience. The students continued milling around him, their mindless chatter surrounding him. He hadn't bothered to make any friends here. Were some of them decent, intelligent people who actually managed to interest him? Yes. But in the end, they could distract from his ultimate goal. Her.

She was coming his way. Her swimming block had started their swimming unit on Monday, and subsequently her hair was loose and wet as it hung around her shoulders. Her lip was pulled slightly back into her mouth as she softly bit into it—maybe she was worried about something. He would find out. Her eyes skipped over him, but he didn't care. Her eyes skipped over everybody. Her face, for the most part, was poker-straight, but he knew it well enough by now to be able to read the signs of boredom in the small flare of her nose and the droop in her eyelids.

He chuckled. She was often bored—bored by school or bored by life, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that she walked around as if she was more the slightly fed up with the world's nonsense. As he continued to look at her, entranced with the way the shoulders of her blouse was slowly becoming saturated from the water in her hair, her eyes swung over to look straight at him.

He waited, for a sign of recognition, or perhaps attraction, but there was nothing. Her eyes merely continued traveling on, bored and lost. It stung. She never noticed—most people did—so he swore that he would make her notice. He would make her notice so badly that she couldn't notice anything else.

It had been a Friday, the day when he had first noticed her. She had been out with one of her friends—in fact, her best friend. They were bantering back and forth with each other, without awkwardness or confusion, as some are prone to do, when she had suddenly and unexpectedly thrown her head back to laugh.

That Friday, he had seen her as she really was. Or rather, how she really would be, if she chose to live in this world instead of constantly dreaming about living in others. Stunning. He wanted her so badly, both then and now.

He couldn't say that it had been a deep, full-belly laugh, because it wasn't. It had been more of a disbelieving snort, following by a series of incredulous smiles that left him wanting more. Up until that Friday, he had hardly noticed her himself. She was just another girl—a withdrawn, strange girl, but just another girl nonetheless. He had deemed her pretty, but nothing more.

Her friend left, later. She had turned, twirling her bag rather whimsically from side to side, and walked over to the nearest bookstore. He had followed her, still in the spell she had unknowingly cast over him. It wasn't easy, following her without being seen. He knew that he was noticeable, the kind of person that once you saw it was hard to look away.

The girl had crept silently through the bookstore with a satisfied swing to her steps that she never had at school. Instead of heading to a particular section, she wandering around, occasionally stopping to peer through the pages of books that interested her. Sometimes, they made her lips curl up softly, or her eyes brighten, and she rewarded them with the soft touch of her fingers down their spines. From behind the nearest bookcase, he had shivered.

It had become blindingly obvious to him that she had no knowledge of his particular interest in him. This he found endlessly frustrating. He couldn't fluster her with a touch or make her blush with a single glance because she wouldn't have any idea of what she was supposed to be blushing about.

Was this the first time this had happened to him? This level of obsession, of almost crazed love? Yes. He reassured himself that this only showed how special she was. How incredibly special _she_ was. He had been with other girls, dated them, kissed them, and even tried to love them. But never had it been like this.

Did he worship her? No. She was an object of intense desire; not a goddess that he should worship from the heavens. He needed her to worship him instead. It seemed chauvinistic, in many ways, but what he really wanted was an utterly tangible, physical response to whatever powerful feeling he was constantly feeling towards her.

So when he lay asleep, tossing fitfully in his bed, he swore to himself that he would get that response, that love, that worship. He would make her blush, and stutter at his touch. He would make her notice him, so that he could see her walking down the halls, hips swaying, as she walked directly towards _him_.

Oh, how she would learn toregret the day she smiled when he was there to see it.

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Please Review. I need to know whether to continue this story or not. 


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